


girls night

by transangelic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arson, Dreams, F/F, Fire, Happy Ending, Not Canon Compliant, archivist dreams, fucky timelines, gertrude desolation avatar propanganda, me n da girls burning down the place that will carry out our demise in canon, to be exact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transangelic/pseuds/transangelic
Summary: It all started with the dreams. But now, every night when she laid her body down, she would see her. Agnes, infernal, evil, beautiful, Agnes. They were almost like nightmares, but she couldn't bring herself to call them that...basically gertrude and agnes have a girls night and burn down the archives together!
Relationships: Agnes Montague & Gertrude Robinson, Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	girls night

**Author's Note:**

> HELLOOO GERTRUDEAGNES NATION 
> 
> this def needs more work but i. am. impatient!!!!
> 
> heres a playlist i made that fits the vibe:https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OXOC857B122WHTVplO564?si=J1NYztGeTIGlYh5G0FWIQQ
> 
> also: this is set like around when gertrude just got hired,, so both of them are in their 20s/30s in my mind!  
> thanks for reading :)

It all started with the dreams. 

Gertrude was used seeing the statement givers every night. Some were prophetic, some showed the same faces she had seen writing a statement that week. It was a matter of chance. She never thought of herself as a prophet, though. She wasn’t that far gone. 

It was almost a ritual at this point. To go to sleep, seeking peace and rest, and then seeing another face hurt by the Institute, shaking, screaming at her. 

But now, every night when she laid her body down, she would see  _ her.  _ Agnes, infernal, evil,  _ beautiful _ , Agnes. They were almost like nightmares, but she couldn't bring herself to call them that. They always left Gertrude shocked, but laying calmly. 

The dreams would start the same every time, Agnes, coming close, cupping Gertrude’s face softly, warmly, then in an instant, the scene would change, Agnes on fire, Gertrude on fire, sometimes a variation of both. 

When it was only herself, she would be stuck in some unknown room, walls a deep black that reflected her own hunched frame. There was no escape, but she felt calm as the flames surrounding her would lick at her skin. Catching her nightdress, as Agnes watched from the corner, a fond smile on her face, lit by the flickering orange aura of the fire, auburn hair blowing behind her. The only thought in her head was “Maybe this wouldn’t be a bad way to die,” as Agnes stepped closer, mirroring events to come by bracketing Gertrude’s face, Agnes the only thing in her view, and kissing her. It never came as a surprise. It felt welcoming, the way the warmth enveloped her. 

She never remembered who lit the fire, though. 

The ones with Agnes burning were worse. They started with Gertrude waking up in the dream, except in one of her safehouses. One of the ones in the worst states, wallpaper peeling around her and the wooden floors creaking loudly. She would be drawn outside, and nothing could stop her from turning the doorknob and running like a woman possessed to the hill adjacent to the house. It would be Agnes, slender hand outstretched at the top, beckoning. Flames tore up the scenery around her, backlit, hair shining like a halo. There was a path of blackened earth leading up to her, like destiny. The flowers and grass smoldered around the scene, but Gertrude couldn’t feel the heat. She felt cold, almost, in her pale nightdress that whipped around her in the wind. 

The way she felt drawn to Agnes in these dreams was indescribable. It felt like fate, like the only choice she had ever had, the easiest one at that, to climb up the hill to Agnes. 

She swore she she could smell the burning flesh when she awoke, but it always disappeared within a matter of seconds. The smell of regular smoke always persisted though, and all the spiderwebs gathered in her apartment always disappeared. She originally blamed it on a neighbors smoking habits, or some chemical in the air causing it. Another ritual, she supposed. Those surrounded her right now. It seemed almost ironic to Gertrude at first, the messiah, the  _ incarnate  _ practically of fire and flame, coming to her set. It was a bit obvious, wasn’t it? At this point, Gertrude was used to metaphors, to links and bonds she could never fully understand, but Agnes seemed straight to the point. 

She never thought she would like Agnes, or anyone to that matter. But Agnes, as she saw her, was mesmerizing. She found herself looking forward to seeing her, if only in a dream. 

The first time she saw Agnes, it was in a photograph. She had thought she looked charming, if not a bit standoffish. Agnes’s eyes in the photo seemed to follow you, like a cheap halloween gag. But nothing compared to her actual presence, the dissection, the pinning she felt whenever Agnes would come to her was unimaginable, unearthly. Could never be heaven sent, but it definitely felt like it whenever she would smell the smoke she knew so well. 

★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★

The Agnes in her dreams became sentient about 3 months in. 

Gertrude had adjusted to seeing her every night in her dreams, the same way, the same story, but one night, it all changed. It was at the part where Agnes kisses her, and Gertrude leans in. 

Their lips press against each other, heat spreading between them. Agnes pulls away first, 

“Hi.” she says simply. 

Gertrude startles, unsure, “Fuck off.” she says with a smile. “Are you real? I- Is this you?” 

“Yes, Gertrude.” Agnes says, sounding playfully exasperated. 

“Well- Hi, then.” Gertrude replies. “Why am I here?”

“There’s something we need to do.” Agnes says as she pulls Gertrude up from her kneeling position on the void-black floor. It must be weird for Agnes, she thinks, to be able to touch her. She tries not to think about how starved for touch she must be, her whole life spent without it. 

“Hm?” 

“The Institute, The Archives- bad things are coming.”

“Bad things are always coming, it seems.” Gertrude says, Matter of factly. Her fingers twitch, in need of a cigarette. 

“It’s different- I-” Agnes sighs, trying to explain herself. “So much more bad will come if we don’t do something. I promise you.”

Gertrude, not yet hardened from years of being the Archivist, agrees, blindly. 

She never gets any rest anymore. Always plotting with Agnes in her dreams. She was unreadable, most times, always passive on whatever Gertrude’s ideas was, only believing in her own. She was a bit of a brat, too, but Gertrude couldn’t find herself to mind. She thought it made sense, for all Agnes had lived through. 

And as the months passed, a plan was formed. Agnes convinced her that whatever would come out of this was small compared to whatever she saw on the horizon. Gertrude never asked how she knew, but Agnes seemed so sure that she couldn’t bring herself to ask. 

It made her love her more, seeing her every night. the way Agnes’s eyes lit up in the dreams, the way she talked so animatedly, but still so softly. 

They were going to burn the archives down. To get rid of this hell mouth of a place, festering with tragedies yet to come. It seemed right, the intersection of her and Agnes’s interests, arson, to take down this place. 

And so they did it. 

★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★☼★

She turns to Agnes. “Are you ready?” she asks, thumb resting on the lighter. It’s mostly a placebo, as she knows Agnes will perform most of the actual action. 

“ If we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives.” Agnes replies, facing a shelf. Her hair twists around herself in the shitty A/C of the archives, and her hands hang at her side, swaying slowly. 

Candles surround the two, flickering and making the whole place smell rank, a mix of vanilla, orange, birthday cake, whatever they could find at the adjacent shops. They must have looked insane, two tired women buying nothing but a shit-ton of candles, with some already clacking together in a shopping bag at Gertrude's side, and a singular lighter. 

Gertrude laughs a bit despite herself. “Never took you for an avid reader.” She’s leaning back against the shelves, shirt unbuttoned all the way, sweating slightly from the heat radiating from Agnes combined with the abundance of candles. Agnes could never burn her, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t practically a living furnace. It’s a bit comforting, Gertrude thinks, maybe if it wasn't so hot in here. 

Agnes turns back to Gertrude and smiles warmly. “Too much free time.” she says solemnly as she walks towards a wall of the archives. They're in the heart of the place, dusty shelves and sloppily filed cases surrounding the two. She looks back to Gertrude, a final warning, or maybe an ask for permission. Gertrude steps forward as well, flicks the lighter, preparing. 

Agnes presses her freckled hand against the yellowing wallpaper. The golden rings she wears tap against the surface as the edges around her hand start to scorch slightly, then catch in a matter of seconds. Gertrude is at her side, reaching around the wall and it’s adjacent shelves, lighting everything in sight. Soon the fire surrounds her. 

She coughs as smoke starts to fill the room, “What do we do now?” 

She feels Agnes grab her hand, warm as ever, and decidedly says “Run.” 

They bolt out of the Archives, hand in hand, stumbling up the creaking stairs. When Agnes looks down, Gertrude is smiling, almost giddily, if that could  _ ever _ be used to describe her. Agnes smiles too as they finally make their way out of the building. Everyone’s already evacuated, of course. They pulled the fire alarm hours ago. 

They will deal with Elias later, if he doesn't burn with the Archives. Gertrude can’t decide which one would be better, Elias dying alone, no one to sit through his stupid speeches, burning from her and Agnes’s own fire, or the  _ privilege  _ of killing him directly. To make him pay. 

Agnes grips her hand, and suddenly she realizes they are outside. They've survived, and the archives go on burning behind her. 

“We should really get out of here.” Agnes says with a smile, still hand in hand with Gertrude. 

“Yes,” Gertrude smiles back, “But isn’t it so beautiful?” She turns back to the building. “Lets just watch for a bit, then we’ll leave.” 

They climb the fire escape of an nearby brick apartment building, and watch the fire burn out, smoke filling the evening air, blurring their vision. 

Gertrude leans in first for what feels like the first time, and when Agnes kisses her back, roughly, she feels the fire within both of them.

They can hear the firetrucks in the distance, but they kiss carelessly, Gertrude lacing her fingers through Agnes’s hair, Agnes’s hands cupping her face like before. Gertrude feels whole, and knows whatever is on the horizon, she can take it. She never wants to get used to this feeling, she thinks, as Agnes lays her head on her shoulder. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!   
> you can find me on tumblr at @irlmartin pls come talk to me abt them


End file.
